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Columbina and sex were not two words that Sandrone ever thought should - could - mesh well. But now, draped on a stiff bed on a stiff pillow as her innards were plowed open.. Sandrone could admit her mistake. Not when her eyes were rolling back and her toes curling into the sheets, though.
“I missed you.” Columbina is cooing saccharine nonsense into her ear, breast to breast and hydro strap to cunt. It’s a crude mimic that just so happens to offer endless wetness, endless lubrication.. Pushed onto her side, Sandrone can only oggle the blue, shimmering thing as it slides in and out, hips tilting to accommodate its girth. It burns - of course it does, she thinks bitterly; her synthetic walls were never designed for such carnal delights - before she’s swept up by Columbina’s kiss.
Saliva bubbles and drips between soft lips, and all Sandrone - fiercesome, feisty Sandrone - can do is mewl pitifully; a thin, hiccuping thing that dissolves into a shrill moan as the strap pounds into her, again and again. Columbina is relentless, hips smacking and thrusting back and forth and forth and back till it’s a blur of wet flesh and pulsing pleasure. “Cuhh-olumbina..” She babbles, cranial circuits turning to mush with every movement; every smack of their naked bodies together. She can feel those wires fizzing dangerously in her clockwork cerebrum, her much revered mind a puddle of goop - and she despises it. Loves it.
“I know.” Columbina’s voice pitches upwards, far too airy as if she is edging close to orgasm herself.. Given the shiny, slick come splattered on both ends of the strap; there’s truth in that regard, at least. “You missed me too.” Her giggle dissolves into a delirious, delicious pant that has Sandrone’s circuits shrieking as heat and pleasure mold and merge into one.
“Don’t- AH!” Her retort breaks into a cracking, whimpering cry as the dildo fills her with a loud, lewd gushhh of hydro that has her ball-jointed hands digging into Columbina’s back, canines biting down onto creamy, angelic skin and getting a surprised moan that has her servos whirring in triumph. She shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t need it so badly as she arches and gasps as that cursed strap hits nerve endings she didn’t know existed - but Columbina is all over her, with her; inside her.. Rebuild be damned, she’s going to combust at this rate. Sandrone feels impossibly full, to the tips of her toes to her head; even her voicebox feels bloated and thick in her chest capsule as she chokes out; “Don’t be ridiculous! As if I would ever-!”
“Mhm.. you’re cute like this.” Is what Columbina replies with, sending a stab of mortification through Sandrone’s cogwheels. Her namesake as the ‘Moon Goddess’ rings true - Columbina almost seems to be glowing, a white outline shimmering on small, high breasts and stomach rolls.. Almost would’ve been endearing had Sandrone’s head not been melting into the pillow. Each thrust shakes the bedframe, their withering silhouettes casting thick, long shadows on the cabin walls. Quaking thighs there, gaping mouth here, beads of sweat everywhere. “I can sense you..” The goddess says anew as the plap of wet flesh makes Sandrone’s cheeks burn; makes Columbina smile despite her blinding veil. “You feel so warm, Sandrone.”
“Shuddup, just..!” Whatever venom she injects into her words is lost, morphs into a squeal - when’s the last time she’s done that? - as warm, achingly soft hands cup and rub and massage her breasts like dough. Sandrone’s optics don’t have to be removed to know that Columbina is enraptured, captivated by them.. Much like everything else the entire night. Pawing at her newer, longer digits and marvelling at the increased thickness; poking at the buttery synthetic skin and gawking at its softness.. Plunging her cock in her as a reunion gift. Stupid, Sandrone would’ve thought. Could’ve thought if she hadn’t an arm over her eyes, embarrassment flaring within as Columbina rolled full, nippleless peaks between her reverent hands and Sandrone whined irreverence; “N-Not there..!”
“Don’t you like it when I touch you there?” Columbina’s hair falls around them like a dark curtain, a thick cocoon that encases sensuality and softness into one.
Sandrone’s eyes stung, optics processing it as an extra sheen of wetness that she did not want to acknowledge right now. The usual applied to one (humans, she recalled bitterly) overcome with tears; a heavy lump in her throat, voicebox stuttering out a thick, croaking; “Don’t twist my woRDSSS!” Her remaining shreds of composure vanish like a fleeting breeze, morph into incoherent moans instead - the pure ecstasy of Columbina’s mouth, her teeth grazing those pillowy, ripe mounds too much to bear.
“Dumplings.” Pink, slick flash of a tongue that makes Sandrone’s toes curl despite Columbina’s devotional mumbles; “They’re like dumplings..” The puckered silicone is soft, warm - the marionette’s studied her body well enough to know the ins and outs, where cold cogwheels meet synthetic flesh. Synthetic, and.. Incredibly sensitive. Really, Columbina didn’t have to try much.. Just a few gnaws and lewd, loud sucks and Sandrone’s eyes were rolling back - so hard, so fast that she could feel the metal twitching in the ocular cavity.
And within a stuttering beat of Sandrone’s emotional core, a stinging throb driving screws and bolts back against each other; the strap’s frantic pounding dies down into a languid, grinding roll. Her head sinks more naturally into the pillow, a relieved, oil-burning exhalation from her nostrils.
“You know.. whenever I ate, it wasn’t the same without you.” Columbina’s melodic murmuring is a fine blend for the slower pace, a pleasant warmth flooding Sandrone’s joints; siphoning to her emotional core until it feels fit to burst. Sandrone feels like she’s in a dream - the world is spinning, beige drywall blending with Columbina’s flushed skin until the marionette can almost see every brush stroke, every line of dialogue that pops with the waking reality. Sandrone’s mouth is lax, wax, hips rolling against creamy sheets; hooded eyes eating the strap up as it disappears into her gaping entrance.. Slickness and stickiness mixing until she can’t tell real, quivering thighs from her own synthetic flesh. Hypnotic.
“You stupid, sentimental..” Flies out of Sandrone’s mouth on autopilot, a throbbing pull deep in her throat - vocal compressor working to provide enough airflow against this assault on her senses. Alain could’ve engineered her voicebox with platinum grade steel and it still wouldn’t hold under Columbina’s sexual prowess.. No, the Moon Goddess wants to devour her. Wants to flip her insides out until the freshly-installed wires, gears and knobs spill out under pressure. Distantly, a voice shrieks that the marionette wouldn’t mind - this is what she wants, isn’t it? Is it not enough? No. Cheeks blazing, she mumbles lamely; “W-Well.. I’m here now, aren’t I?”
“Oh.. yes,” Columbina smiles, an immediate bolt of fuzziness to Sandrone’s stomach. But her clockwork hardly has time to turn before Columbina’s reaching out; fingers trailing over the black ties knotted in thick side-bangs. Her touch radiates heat, even through synthetic hair - sends a shudder through Sandrone’s nerve endings that expands outward into a full-body quake. “I like these.” Columbina all but croons, all puppy ears and wagging tail to Sandrone’s kittenish caterwauling - as if she didn’t beg the marionette to keep those ties, that they looked nice on her, that she wanted to see her; all of her-
“You like everything I do, don’t you? Sandrone’s hissing is a direct contrast to the way her back’s arching, key wound so tight that it feels ready to pop-out at any moment. She’s always been selfish, always asked so little of the world and got so much in return.. But Columbina, she admits begrudgingly, is different. The goddess doesn’t ask for much, just Sandrone’s time and attention and; eventually, her body too. Mutual exclusivity, the marionette scowled at the thought. “Do you ever stop talking?”
Columbina’s head tilts, hair spilling over the sheets like a dark waterfall.. Sandrone’s drowning in it, really. “Is talking uncommon during sexual activity?” All the while, one hand rests on the puppet’s breast; shaping the flushed, synthetic mound into a hypersensitive cavern of pleasure. “It was just, since you’ve been screaming so much-”
A traitorous, needy whine rips from Sandrone’s throat and drowns out Columbina’s hypothesis. Her thighs squeeze harder against the latter’s back, bracketing wide hips. “Forget it!” She snaps, not ready to address how her key is spinning like a damn helicopter at this point - “J-just- just k-keep..” The words die in her throat, the realization that she’s begging, genuinely begging; is a shameful shotgun blast right to her emotion module. The makeshift heart whirrrs, a concentrated laser beam of pure sensation and pleasure molding into one.
“‘Keep’..?”
“De- mm..” She can’t say it, tongue twisting and twining around a foul admission of more, I want more, I need more, more of you, you, you-
“Mm? I didn’t quite catch that.”
Shame twists her cogwheels, burns like acid on her tongue. Eyes squeeze shut as she chokes; “D-Deeper..”
“Oh! I can do that.”
And indeed, Columbina does - with a harsh, sharp thrust that has Sandrone’s hips snapping upwards, thighs slamming back against her ass; a shriek punching out of her voicebox and floating, molten and shrill, in the muggy room. “OH, FUUU-UCK!” Such vulgar language would normally make her blush.. But now; when her synthetic skin feels hotter than Pyro itself, Sandrone doesn’t really care (for all the good it will do). All she can focus on is the pleasurable sting of the strap as it pummels her insides, the shlicckk of lubricant as it drizzles down quivering thighs and onto the sheets below.
Never would she have thought that her artificial ‘add-ons’ actually be used for anything more than self-pleasure - it was a spur of the moment choice, Alain’s death having catalyzed everything into a little bag of loneliness and desperate distractions. Women were known and expected to be light, delicate.. Kind - Columbina wrapped up in a little bow; she mused bitterly. Speaking of which..
“You’re.. Tight.” A tremor in Columbina’s voice, an incredulous gasp lodged in her throat.
Pride and irritation war within Sandrone’s chest cavity - her nostrils flare, a growl bubbling out; “W-Why would I not be, you little-” THRUST. “-fUHHHHH!” The insult flies away on her tongue as it lolls out, back arching so deeply she can hear a dull crunnchh as an axle strains deep inside her; stretches her clockwork to its limit. Sandrone’s eyes bulged as a whirrrrring began in her stomach cavity, ripples of sensation that dissolved into a pleasant sting. Her cooling fan has leapt into overdrive, pushing back against the soaring temperature with frightening rapidity. Really, installing a self-sufficient coolant system was obvious; especially given Sneznahya’s icy climate.. With the retrieval of her linchpin, an upgrade was a no-brainer. Kept her core from overheating, but now? Now? All that cryo-charged buildup siphoned through her internal radiator, through the hoses and wires, shuddered externally onto their bodies-
The transition to the slimy, pummelling hydro strap to a frigid, hardened cryo one happens within a blink, a heartbeat, a shocked gasp. “That’s.. New,” Columbina acknowledges with infuriating casualness - though her hips twitch, the straps there now glazed blue with frost. One hand slides down, trails across the hardened, icy covering; across the creamy swell of Sandrone’s thighs..
“Columbina.” Breathing burns. It burns because her voicebox is making this hisssssing that is certainly not normal and certainly not because it’s prone to superheating. A shame.. Her cooling fan doesn’t even run that low, but no time to process that when-
“Does it feel good?” Floats on Columbina’s swollen, pink lips and wires itself into Sandrone’s neural system. The moon goddess’s thighs are trembling now, a delightful quiver thanks to the iciness. Her breasts, small and tipped with pink nipples, tighten and inexplicably draw Sandrone’s eyes to them. The Marionette doesn’t need to be blind - knock on wood - to know that Columbina’s losing control, is dipping and melting into the ocean of lust; and the very concept sends a devious thrill through her.
But any notion of regaining control is dashed as she whines, small and pathetic - “Of course it feels good, you-” Breaks into a shrill cry as the strap drags against her walls, the frigidity a wonderful, dizzying mix that sends a burning shockwave of pleasure straight to her core. “Ohhh..”
“So beautiful,” Columbina’s thick, drawling moan makes Sandrone feel like she’s vibrating out of her own skin, a testament to their passion as Columbina’s voice fades in and out with every pulse of pleasure, and still she coos; “You’re so pretty, Sandrone - look..” One hand rises, points to a location that has Sandrone biting her lip so hard, so fast, that the salty tang of oil fills her mouth.
There’s a bump in her belly. Her stomach cavity, to be precise. A bulge that protrudes and stretches synthetic skin crudely outward, to be even more so. Sandrone is many things - feisty, passionate, alone - but she’s not stupid, especially when that strap is inside her clockwork. ..Literally.
“Shut up!” She was supposed to snarl; was supposed to hiss, but a whimper clambers out instead and has her ears burning with heat. Every movement, each drag of that cursed toy against her inner workings is like a bolt of lightning straight to her circuits: hot, pulsing, pleasant. That iciness shouldn’t feel as good as it does, but then Columbina’s hips snap upward and the tip snags on a loose wire and Sandrone can’t think anymore; “Shut up, shut up, shut-!” A sob breaks free, teeth sinking into her lower lip-
“I love you, Sandrone.”
Oh.
Sandrone’s orgasm crashes through her with the force of a tidal wave, a tsunami of pleasure that crests and laps at her artificial nerve endings. Every inch of her clockwork is singing; a brilliant symphony where the lead singer is her cries, high-pitched and warbling. Distantly, she can hear Columbina’s voice melting into an orchestra of gasps and sighs with every arch and grind.. But she’s shaking far too much to really recognize it. Her finishing whimper vibrates deep in her throat and across the room, body collapsing with a dull thud. Cool, soft velvet greets her as the sheets go flying; head dipping and diving.. Into Columbina’s neck. She winces as she feels her valve system - deep in her throat, safely lodged in - pulse with every gasp for air, sliding deep into her gut and cycling around.. oxygenated energy works the base of her key, turning its sluggish, post-orgasmic churn into a reliable twist.
“Oh.” Columbina’s voice remains light as a feather, unflappable. A twinge of irritation rocks Sandrone’s core, cogwheels consequently locking up - stomach tightening uncomfortably. The best sex of her life hadn’t cured Columbina’s airheadedness.. Typical. Even more so as the latter breathes: “You returned it.”
“What?” Comes out in a throaty, near-animalistic growl. The barbed wire on her tongue is familiar; the throbbing, steaming state of her voicebox isn’t. Sandrone cringes, already mentally scrawling vocal revisal plans on special Columbina-excluded paper.
“My hug.” And then Columbina smiles. One so small, so precious that it makes up for the soreness permeating every inch of the marionette’s cunt.
..Almost.
“Shut up.” Comes out naturally enough; but as Columbina’s lips press against her forehead, the warbling whine that tears out is anything but artificial. It is a blissful afterglow, one that has her leeching off Columbina’s body heat without shame - indeed, Sandrone would rather die (again) than acknowledge the way she clings to the goddess, the way their arms and legs tangle so perfectly together that she doesn’t quite know where her clockwork begins and where Columbina’s skin ends.
She wouldn’t trade it for the world.